The Price of Debt

 

POV: Brigail

Brigail grabbed the stale muffin from the tabletop as she fished her keys inside her bag. Third day at the restaurant and already running late.

She and her older brother Jerry were neck-deep in debt left by their gambler father. When Barry Carrolton, an old family friend, offered her a job at an Italian restaurant on the Strip, she didn't think twice. Bigger paycheck, board and lodging included. Her only sacrifice was leaving home, Jerry, and her friends behind.

With no formal culinary training, she'd been offered the lowest position: kitchen assistant. But Tara Thomasson, the Chef de Cuisine and co-owner of Fiordillatte, promised if she did well in the next couple of months, she could be promoted to commis. An apprentice chef where she could actually learn the business.

Brigail wasn't new to restaurant work. She'd been a barmaid since sixteen at Latoya's, a local pub back in New Orleans, Renard Parish, Louisiana.

She and Jerry had been living with their grandmother since their father left them to try his luck in Vegas when Brigail was twelve and Jerry was fourteen.

When Gran Adele died last year, she and Jerry had to work extra hard just to have three square meals a day. Not to mention the monthly bills that kept coming to taunt them.

Her string of bad luck started when her mother Michelle died in a car accident when Brigail was four. Her father Corbett began losing his way after that. He started gambling. While he was good at it, he wasn't shrewd enough to survive the harsh reality of the business.

Corbett was too trusting. That paved the way for his eventual demise.

The arrival of Mac Rattray into New Orleans was the beginning of the end for Corbett Havens. Mac sweet-talked Corbett into going against the sharks in Vegas. Mac even offered to pay for the plane ticket and accommodations. All Corbett had to do was show up and pay the hundred dollar buy-in.

The promise of easy money lured her father. Maybe he was too gullible. Too desperate.

Corbett left for Vegas with Mac in April 2002 to join a tournament with a whopping pot. Enough for the Havens family to live comfortably for the rest of their lives.

It was supposed to be a weekend event. The weekend dragged into weeks. Weeks became months that turned into a year.

Corbett would call every week and assure them he'd be home soon.

He never came home.

Brigail hadn't heard from her father for months. Gran was getting agitated. Jerry threatened to fly to Vegas and drag his father back.

But before Jerry could hop on a plane, the dreaded phone call came.

Fourth of July, 2003. Brigail could still remember it like yesterday.

She was at the Fortenberrys', their next-door neighbors, helping Maxine Fortenberry set up their annual barbecue when Jerry came barging in like a man possessed.

"Dad's dead," he'd said. "They found him buried in the desert in Reno."

She couldn't remember what happened next. All she could remember was her Gran's lap where she cried herself to sleep.

Their neighbors chipped in so they could have Corbett's body flown home. The Nevada authorities said there was no foul play. Corbett died of suffocation. High alcohol level in his bloodstream. He must have been drunk and caught in a flash flood in the middle of the desert.

Nobody believed it.

But they didn't have money for an autopsy or a private investigator. So they kept their mouths shut and gave him a proper burial.

The nightmare didn't end there.

A month after they buried Corbett, Adele received another phone call.

A loan shark. Apparently, he'd lent Corbett a large sum to bankroll his addiction.

"Pay up or we'll take everything from you."

The Havens family had very little left. Adele gave their ancestral house as collateral until they could come up with the money Corbett owed, plus interest.

Adele, in her early sixties when Corbett died, went back to work as a cashier in a local drugstore. Most of her income went to the offshore account the loan shark provided.

Jerry got a job as soon as he was old enough. Jackson Herveaux, Corbett's old boss, hired him without question.

Brigail couldn't wait to help either. As soon as Gran permitted, she asked Latoya Reynolds, the owner of the local bar and grill, for a job. Latoya gave her good shifts so she could finish high school while working.

When Adele was diagnosed with cardiomegaly, enlarged heart, Brigail and Jerry begged her to stop working.

Adele lived three more years until her body finally gave up.

Ten years later and their father's debt remained the same. The money they handed over barely covered the interest that kept rising every year.

Brigail's internal wallowing halted when Tara, face flushed with anger, came up to her while she was prepping the mise en place for lunch shift.

"What did you do?" Tara growled, drawing everyone's attention.

Brigail dropped the knife on the chopping board. "Chef?"

"Don't you fuckin' 'Chef' me and tell me what the fuck you did!" Tara screamed. Brigail looked around, eyes pleading her coworkers for help. "You've been here less than a week and you managed to piss off the one person who could run you out of town with a flick of a finger!"

Brigail swallowed hard. She had no clue what made Tara so hostile.

"Eli Michealson's outside," Tara spat, pointing at the kitchen door. "Eli fucking Michealson doesn't go out for lunch! He has Michelin chefs at his beck and call, not to mention his countless restaurants all over Vegas. So tell me, what did you do to make him come all the way here?!"

It finally made sense. She tried to mess with him on his turf. Now he was giving her a taste of her own medicine.

"Do you wanna know the best part?" Tara asked mockingly. "He wants you to cook his meal! You!" She let out a humorless cackle. "I'm sure he knows you don't know the difference between sautéing and deep-frying. My guess is you pissed him off royally and now he wants an excuse to drive your ass back to Louisiana. You'll be taking this whole damn restaurant down with you!"

Brigail was shaking. She wasn't scared of Eli Michealson. He was a typical bully and she'd dealt with plenty. But she was terrified of Tara and losing her job. Her one ticket out of hell.

"I'm sorry, chef. I swear I didn't know he'd go this far. I was only trying to—"

"You know what, don't tell me. I don't want to know. You're so fucking stupid to get mad at anyway." Tara dismissed her, heading to her office adjoined to the kitchen.

After a few charged minutes, Tara came back with a small index card. She handed it to Brigail. "This is a simple spaghetti carbonara recipe. Follow it, word by fucking word, and try your best not to screw it up. Taste, taste, taste. When it's done, send me a sample before you serve it to him. And did I mention he also wants you to serve it?"

Tara stomped toward the back door.

"Aren't you gonna teach me?" Brigail begged.

"Knock yourself out! I'll be out back. I need a smoke!"

After Tara left, Selah Pumphrey, the brunette sous chef, gave Brigail a disapproving look before returning to her station.

Brigail had some kitchen knowledge from helping Gran earn extra by selling Adele's special pecan pie. But Italian food was new to her.

She followed the recipe almost to a T. Then she decided to add baby asparagus and a fried egg on top.

Tara almost threw a fit when she saw what Brigail had done. She nearly tossed it in the bin, but Terry Bellefleur, one of the line cooks, urged her to try it first. They were running out of time and everyone in Vegas knew Eli Michealson wasn't patient.

Tara was surprised when the pasta wasn't bad at all. The asparagus blended with the richness of the white sauce and egg.

Tara gave Brigail the green light, crossing her fingers behind her back.

Brigail took off her hair cap and smoothed her chef's whites before heading out to serve the meal to the devil incarnate.